


Steter Drabbles

by JamesRelic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Boy Kissing, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Mpreg, Protective Peter, Protective Stiles, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Stilinski Family Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-08-11 06:44:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 6,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7880551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamesRelic/pseuds/JamesRelic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Steter drabbles because I've realized...I can't get enough of these two. I haven't kept up with the series AT ALL, so most of this is going to be rather early on, and not at all canon...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Little Red and the Wrong Post Box

**Author's Note:**

> I've already got four written, so you'll at least get four drabbles! If you have prompt requests, please comment them and I'll try. Probably a lot of OOC but I'll try!  
> This prompt has come from: http://otp--prompts.tumblr.com  
> Also, no one reads these beforehand so, sorry for the mistakes, etc.

Drabble 1, Prompt 1

_"Travis the clumsy mail-carrier put Person A's porn mag in Person B's mail compartment and they have to deliver it by hand because Person A's mail compartment is locked."_

Peter's fingertips prickled unpleasantly as his eyes roamed over the cover of the magazine that had been haphazardly shoved in his mailslot. From what he could tell from the cover - a scantily clad Red Riding Hood, pinned under a a well muscled, makeup disaster of a werewolf - it was a porn rag catering to paranormal/horror crowd. A crowd with bad tastes, if Peter had anything to say about it. He wrinkled his nose.

 _Really_.

He suspected his niece was behind it until his eyes caught the address label. _S. Stilinski, Unit A._ Peter paused in the hallway. Unit A, the neighbor across the hall. He'd caught glimpses of the pale skinned, mole dotted boy. Young man, he corrected, thinking of the long limbs and sharp features with a slight grin. He looked at the magazine again as he began to walk again.

The gaudy font in bright tones announced new titles: _The Texas Dildo Massacre_ , _The Human Sexipede_... all under a truly terrible cut line "Will Little Red _Riding_ Hood escape the hulking beast before he drags her back to his den to claim his prize? It may _knot_ be what you think." Peter thought he might have gotten whiplash from rolling his eyes so hard. Coming to a stop in front of A, he rapped sharply on the door and listened to the brief frantic scrambling on the other side of the door before the young man, Stilinski his mind supplies, appeared before him. The smell hit him first, thunderstorms and cold grass undercut by a chemical sting. The scent of an alpha rankled at the edges, making  his hackles rise as a, banshee? He was surprised, came in at the periphery. He must have been standing longer than he realized, as his thoughts were interrupted by a voice.

"Can I help you?" The man asked, raising an eyebrow, struck between curiosity and amusement at the man waiting before him. A pink tongue darted out to wet slightly chapped lips and Peter found himself momentarily lost until the boy shifted again. Regaining his composure, he adopted an easy smirk and held the magazine out. If it happened to slip open, revealing Little Red in a most compromising position, then who was he to blame. The young man before him looked down, turned a most vibrant shade of red and sputtered like a drowning man before snatching the offending mag.

"I believe our mail-carrier, mistook my slot for that of a one, S. Stilinski, and bestowed upon me your..." he paused, "publication." The predatory grin that flashed brightly had Stiles trying to remember how to breathe.

Was it worth explaining the epic prank war raging between him and Scott? Could he salvage his pride when there was an extremely attractive man in a sinfully low v-neck looking between him and the picture of Little Red Riding Hood riding a guy with poorly fitting fake teeth and glued on side burns? He didn't have the chance to try though, as Peter gave him one last look, slowly, from head to toe, then met his eyes with a heated look. He turned and moved across the hall to his own door. Peter unlocked it smoothly and entered, turning back one last time.

"If you're ever interested in seeing what a real wolf looks like..." He tapered off, closing the door.

Stiles dropped the magazine.


	2. Bubble Gum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was the last piece after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! People read the first one! Okay, then I'll keep posting. Wrote another one so that means there are at least four more to go. I liked writing this one. Fluffy comments are always welcome xx (Prompt again from the otp prompt on tumblr)

Drabble 2 - Prompt 2

 _Person A is chewing the last piece of gum in a really good pack so Person B pulls them into a kiss to low key steal it out of A's Mouth._ **(But when does Peter do 'low key')**

Peter was loathe to admit it, but he'd become addicted to the kiwi-strawberry flavored gum that Stiles chewed at every opportunity.  The mole-dotted Spark had an oral fixation that had to be illegal in at least 29 states. It'd also led Peter, on several occasions, to not so gently remind people that he was _his_. Stiles always blew an indignant bubble in his direction after these "little territorial pissing contests" he so hated, but Peter never failed to notice how the boy always sidled up next to him afterwards and let him wrap a possessive arm around his waist, before feeding him a stick of gum.

And now Peter had come to crave these sticks of gum that he'd come to associate with Stiles, even after "The Great Bubble Mishap of 2015" (that Stiles was forbidden from  **EVER** bringing up in front of the betas...) And right now, Peter could smell the florescent pink gum that Stiles was chewing as he leaned over the table researching the latest Big Bad, with Scott and Derek flanking his side.

Peter surreptisiouly scented the air and followed the sugary trail to Stiles jacket, slipping his hand in to palm the pack and retrieve it. Derek turned and eyed him, raising an eyebrow when Peter flashed his eyes to send Isaac skittering off the chair to the couch. Anticipating his bounty Peter slid the pack of gum open...to find nothing. The delicious scent of kiwi-strawberry pervaded his senses but it was completely empty.

Stiles' chewing seemed to get louder.

With his natural grace, Peter slid from the chair and stalked across the room until he stood directly behind Stiles, completely silent. Peter grabbed his hips, turned him around and crowded him back against the table. Scott sputtered indignantly and Derek rolled his eyes in frustration before moving the blue prints so they wouldn't be creased. Peter swooped in and pressed his lips to Stiles', savoring the spark of pleasure that never seemed to fade, no matter how many times they kissed. Stiles' initial shock subsided and dug his fingers into the fabric of Peter's shirt. When the older wolf's hips met his in a sensuous roll he opened his mouth in an unintentional, but filthy, moan. Peter took this opportunity to plunder his young lovers mouth. He bit his lip and breathed in his scent, before licking into his mouth, allowing Stiles to suckle on his tongue with a poorly concealed whimper. With a final flick of his tongue, Peter pulled away, nuzzling roughly against Stiles' cheek to scent him before he turned on his heel and returned to the couch. He crossed one ankle over his knee and promptly picked up the novel he'd left abandoned on the arm.

Stiles, however, looked positively debauched, cheeks flaming, jaw scraped red and lips swollen. He slowly opened his mouth, then closed it again. But suddenly his brow furrowed, and he felt around with his tongue before his eyes widened. Stiles stalked over to Peter, planting both hands on the side of his arm chair and leaning into his face, "Creeperw-"

But Peter cut him off abruptly - with a big, neon pink, kiwi-strawberry flavored bubble.


	3. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Stiles need to use their words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies. Still writing! Comments are wonderful, feel free to leave them on your way out <3

Stiles shoved away from his barstool with a curse, upsetting the drink in front of him. Peter reached out to grab his hip but he twisted away with a hiss and slipped onto the dance floor.

It'd been a horrific day, but the pack had made it through. Slashes had healed, bruises faded, and muscle twinges were a mere whisper behind the memories of the fight they'd survived that morning. Stiles could still hear the whistle of claws that surely would have pierced his skull had he been a second slower, an inch further to the right. The Alpha who'd come to challenge Scott's claim to the land had underestimated the youth's pack, and pack adjacent, members. But it had been close. The Alpha, and his 7 betas were well trained, powerful and determined. A true alpha, two former alphas, a Spark, a banshee, two hunters, even the Sheriff, joined the Betas, and in the end they'd come out as victorious as you could with blood on your hands.

The Alpha had been killed, with four other betas, and the rest had scattered, allowed to flee the territory as they tended their wounds. Peter had turned on the Spark, who only moments earlier had killed a beta aiming for his Father. His eyes were a chilly blue as he ran his hands up and down Stiles' arms, under his shirt, down his back. His face found its way under Stiles' jaw and roughly scented him. If Peter hadn't taken the Alpha down behind Stiles, he would have been killed and Peter was shaking in poorly veiled fury. Cool anger at his mate for getting into danger (his wolf was clawing to drag him to their den and smother him in their scent, tuck him into a nest and not let him leave) and barely contained rage at the corpse of the Alpha who'd almost taken him away. Stiles had tried to soothe him,

"Creeperwolf, really, I'm fine, I'm right here," soothing and serious tones beneath the joking moniker. But Peter had refused to take it, roughly scenting his mate before pulling away, acting distant and cold the rest of the day. And this is where it had gotten them. Sitting at the Jungle, Stiles moping at the bar because Peter refused to dance with him, and Peter squeezing his wolfsbane infused IPA a little too tightly when Stiles tried to cajole him onto the dance floor.

But Stiles had had it. He was an adult goddamnit! This was _his_  pack, his **family**. And if Peter thought he'd be a good little mate and sit on his ass at home while they were all fighting to survive then he was damn wrong. To hell with him. With that he'd gotten off the bar stool, slipped out of Peter's grip and joined Allison and Lydia on the dance floor.

The two girls immediately plastered themselves to either side of him and Lydia stroked his hair back softly, "What's wrong?"

"Peter's being a dickwad." He spat out grumpily and Allison slid a hand up his back, resting it between his shoulder blades. Stiles relaxed slightly, but he swore he heard a growl come from the bar. “If he thinks I’ll just wait out the fight…”

“He’d never truly want you to just wait at home Stiles,” Lydia said, and Stiles could hear her roll her eyes, “He just hasn’t learned to cope with the fact that he could lose someone he loves again.” She finished softly, and Stiles slumped. All the self-righteous anger he’d built up flooded out of his system. He huffed.

“I’d worked up quite the scathing lecture for him.” Stiles muttered darkly at her, making Allison laugh and bump his hip, moving him to the music.

“I know love, and you’re more than welcome to give him hell for not talking about his feelings.” When Stiles looked over and saw Peter glaring at him from the bar, the self-righteous anger rose back to the surface just a smidge, and he pushed himself out from between the two.

“Excuse me ladies, but I need to lay a little smack down on a certain someone.” Stiles wriggled back through the crowd until he found Scott, seated on the opposite end of the bar with Derek. Stiles adopted his most innocent look, and plastered a grin to his face.

“Scotty!”

“Stiles! Are you having fun? Dereks finally having fun!” He clapped Derek on the shoulder and Stiles wondered if this specific configuration of eyebrow meant ‘having fun.’

“I’m having fun, but…” He trailed off slightly. Derek raised an eyebrow.

“But? What’s wrong? Are you hurting from the fight? Do you need to go home? Where’s Peter?” Scott was on his feet. Stiles smiled brightly, genuinely.

“Peter’s drinking.” Stiles glared slightly down the bar where Peter looked ready to break his bottle, “But no, I just want to dance buddy, and every time I try all these guys keep dancing up on me and they can’t take no for an answer. I mean, who could say no to this body?” He wriggled his eyebrows suggestively and Derek groaned, turning back to his drink.

“Do you want me to come dance with you?” Scott was already taking his arm and Stiles had to hide his grin of triumph.

“You sure?”

“Of course! If you want to dance then you should get to dance without anyone pressuring you, come on.” And with that the Alpha dragged him onto the dance floor, grinding and dancing with the best of them. Stiles felt a little guilty for dragging his actual puppy of a best friend into his scheme. The guy, straight as a steel girder, was willing to get Stiles' junk all over his to let him dance. That was a real friend.

Stiles snuck a look over Scott’s shoulder just as Peter’s beer bottle finally shattered, blue eyes flashing, luckily in time with the roving lights of the club. With an innocent head tilt Stiles scented Scott’s neck as he leaned in to tell his friend something over the thumping bass. Scott laughed and hugged his friend close, taking the opportunity to scent him in return, valuing their true closeness (platonic, as it was) as they moved intimately to the beat.

With a low growl that had Derek getting up from his seat, Peter tore across the dance floor and all but ripped Scott from Stiles. Nearly toppling over, Stiles yelped as Peter caught his waist and growled at Scott. Stiles smacked him roughly in the chest.

“Down boy.” Derek took up next to Scott, who raised his hands up in a placating manner.

“He just wanted to dance and you weren’t around.” He pulled out the hurt puppy eyes, and Stiles melted a little inside, “Just keep all the guys off of him okay?”

Stiles leaned far enough out of Peter’s grip to kiss Scott’s cheek.

“Thanks buddy.” Scott ruffled his hair and went back to the bar with Derek as Peter crushed Stiles against his chest, inhaling deeply from his neck. Stiles stayed silent, save a long suffering sigh. Peter lasted two minutes before a soft, “I’m sorry,” was murmured into Stiles’ neck. “I’d never make you leave your pack behind, I just…” Peter stopped, uncharacteristically lost for a moment in the conversation, “I just worry, about you.” He finished quietly. Stiles smiled into his neck, wrapping his arms around his waist and allowing the tension of the day to completely melt under his mate’s touch.

“I love you too.”


	4. Hush Little Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So sweet, I can't even.

Peter watched as the moonlight bathed his mate with an ethereal glow. Stiles’ already pale skin was nearly iridescent.

“Stiles,” he whispered softly, finger tips skating over his mate’s pregnant belly, “Stiles.”

But the Spark didn’t move, save his chest rising rhythmically with steady breaths. The older man frowned at the dark marks under his husband’s eyes, the product of too many late nights researching, trying to save and protect their pack, their _family._ His whole hand, warm and large, covered his swollen stomach, the little one stirring softly beneath. They didn’t know if it would be possible. Deaton had even _told_ them it couldn’t be done. Peter laughed. Didn’t they know better than to tell Stiles something was impossible?

Laying a gentle kiss against his mate’s skin, he shook his head. He was glad Deaton told them it was impossible. It only spurred Stiles to find a way with as much ferocity and tenacity as he approached all problems and puzzles. Only months later they were standing in the kitchen, coffee forgotten as the two Stilinski men cried with joy. The Sheriff’s cradled his only child to his chest, a calloused hand protectively curled around his son’s back as Peter’s wolf preened to the side of them.

“I love you little one,” Peter whispered to the small heartbeat, “To the moon and back.”

And he couldn’t even bring himself to sneer at the sentimentality. He lay his cheek there, on the warm flesh, listening to the heart beat of his mate, his world, and their world, which was cradled so softly between them. He sang a lullaby, whisper soft and interspersed between kisses. It was quiet, and warm in their nest, and as Peter began to drift off to the heart beats, he heard a quiet murmur in the dark, “I didn’t know you could sing like that.”

He felt a sleepy hand card through his hair as Stiles squirmed closer, “I think it’s sweet.”


	5. A Little Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the best presents come last.

Stiles was tucked safely under Peter’s arm, nearly dozing in the warmth that encompassed him, mind, body, and soul. The sound of White Christmas filtered in from the television and the fireplace occasionally popped in the background. He enjoyed the steady, strong beat of his mate’s heart below him.

They’d started Christmas morning at Stile’s home. The Sheriff sat in his old, brown recliner, a cup of coffee in one hand and a wide grin on his face as Stiles passed out presents from the floor beside the tree. Peter was comfortably seated on the couch closest to John and the three of them enjoyed a pancake breakfast after the presents had been opened and the rubbish cleared away. John had steered his boys (Peter had looked lost the first time he’d heard the Sheriff refer to the two of them as his boys, but John loved his kid, and if Stiles was mated to Peter, then he guessed he had gained another) into the car and they visited the Hale house next.

Stiles had become the ‘pack mom,’ as they so loved to tell him. The young Spark and his father were greeted enthusiastically before he went about making hot chocolate and unloading the incredible volume of goods he’d been baking the day before. When he walked back into the living room to grant them access to the kitchen again, he couldn’t help but smile. The whole living room, rebuilt and redecorated, was covered in pack, covered in family. John, Peter and Derek were sitting on one sofa, with Isaac on the floor by their feet, napping on a bean bag. Scott and Allison were snuggled on the floor on a nest of cushions, while Jackson and Lydia took the other arm chair. Melissa and Chris were talking at another table. It had taken so much hard work to get them to that point, blood, sweat, and tears, and Stiles couldn’t be more thankful. They eventually opened all their presents-another scarf for Isaac, a rare mathematics theorem text for Lydia, a basket of hair care products for Jackson (“Shut it Stilinski!”) Then filed off to their respective homes.

Peter and Stiles had shared in a small exchange of gifts when they returned home. The older werewolf had gifted Stiles a set of magical tomes, several rare ingredients, and a box that Stiles had opened far enough to see a peak of red lace before promptly shutting it with an excited, but nervous blush. After Peter had pulled him into his lap, he’d opened his own presents. A magically imbued dream catcher, a protection amulet, and…dog shampoo. (“It’s a special recipe I found online!” “…Stiles.” “Peter. Did you see your fur after the last full moon? Yeah, uh huh. Don’t even start with me, I brushed you for two hours!”)

Now they lay together, content to simply be in one anothers’ space, half asleep and drifting. Looking down at his mate, Peter traced his finger down his cheek and onto his neck. Stiles subconsciously moved his head, baring his tender flesh to Peter, sighing contently as he nuzzled under his jaw. The show of faith, of his powerful boy giving Peter his trust made his wolf preen. Reaching into his pocket the man jostled Stiles softly, laying him back against the cushions as he stood.

“P’ter?” Stiles snuffled, opening his eyes and rubbing at them, “You okay?”

“Stiles?” There must have been something in his tone of voice because Stiles suddenly sat up, looking much more awake.

“Peter?” He took in the man before him, standing between his legs, holding a small wrapped box in hands. “What’s that?”

“There was one last present you forgot to open, darling boy.”

Carefully, Stiles took the present, which fit in the palm of his hand, wrapped in blood red embossed paper. Slipping a finger under the edge, Stiles broke the tape on one side, before turning it and repeating the process, flipping it over and unwrapping the bottom. The heavy paper fell away and Stiles felt a slight tremor travel through his hands as he stared at a small black jewelry box with gold trim. He couldn’t take his eyes away from the box as his nimble fingers grasped the bottom, and pulled at the top, revealing a golden band wedding band, inset with diamonds. Stiles swallowed, realizing he had forgotten how to breathe and looked up to find Peter on knee before him, reaching out slowly until he cupped his hands and the box in his.

“Przemysław, will you marry me?"

“Yes!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to comment on your way out!


	6. Pointed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter always knew Stiles had his sharp edges.

Peter pulled the squirming boy against him, rubbing a stubbled jaw against his cheek.

“Oh my darling boy…” he murmured hotly, feeling the hard press of something against his thigh, “Is that a knife in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” He traced the outline of Stiles’ ear with his tongue…until he felt the sharp jab of something against his stomach. Looking down, he saw the point of a blade pressed into his abdomen. Stiles met his gaze with glittering eyes, and a predatory grin.

“Knife. Actually.” Peter groaned with arousal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	7. Let Me Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles doesn't know how to ask for help.

“This is literally disgusting.” Peter snarked as he walked into the cramped studio apartment. There were empty containers of food on the counter, cans of Mountain Dew on the coffee table, and dirty clothes piled by the bed in the opposite corner of the apartment.

“Well excuse me, but not all of us can afford to have our clothes laundered and pressed and meals delivered when we don’t feel like cooking!” Stiles hissed in frustrated, slamming the door and cusing as the lock failed to turn, screeching in resistance as Stiles jiggled it violently. This was the second time Peter had been to Stiles’ new apartment, downtown close to the University. First, when he had just moved in and Stiles had been ecstatic about this new found freedom (though not too much, he still loved and would be there for the pack) and his hope was running high.

Peter couldn’t hear a lie over the phone.

When they’d talked Stiles had assured him everything was okay. Classes were great, he was making friends, he was getting enough sleep, he was eating. But now Peter could smell it. Under the stench of the apartment (stuffiness, old carpet, and mold in the walls, Peter thought) he could smell the anxiety, stress, and tension that was rolling off Stiles in waves. Turning, he looked at his boy, noting the dark bags under his eyes, the minute tremors in his fingers, and his disheveled hair. Slowly he closed the space between them, cupping Stiles’ face in his wide palms,

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m not a damsel in distress and I certainly don’t need you to play knight in shining armor.” Peter let him bristle and pull away, but he simply plastered himself against his back, wrapping his arms around his waist. Too thin, he noted.

“Asking for help isn’t being a damsel in distress.”

“I can take care of myself, I’ve been doing it for years…”

“You’ve been doing it so long you don’t even know how to ask anymore do you…” Peter murmured in his ear, and he felt the boy’s shoulders shake as he crumped softly. “Let’s get you to bed. We’ll talk about this in the morning.” He whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone with me still? Comments keep me going. I'm also just about out of drabbles here so if anyone could prompt me I'll try.


	8. Of all the things...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has fought many things...

Peter was comfortably ensconced in his favorite armchair, reading _Shantaram_ , while waiting for Stiles to finish making lunch. They’d spent a delightful morning at the park, Stiles feeding ducks while Peter kept a firm hand around his waist or arm to keep him from falling into the water. Peter felt a little sickened by his sentimentality, but Stiles really did look radiant when he laughed.

These thoughts were interrupted by a loud scream and the crash of a plate from the kitchen. Before he realized what he was doing, Peter was in the kitchen, claws unsheathed, eyes a violent and electric blue, scanning the room for the threat. All he found, however, was Stiles clutching the kitchen cabinets so he wouldn’t fall off the counter that he was currently perched on. The young man was shaking.

“What are you _doing_?” He asked, claws retracting, ears assaulted by the panicked beating of his mate’s heart. Stiles looked at him with wide, doe eyes and pointed to the floor.

A black spider, a little bigger than a quarter, had taken up residence beside a scattering of broken glass that had once been a plate. Peter looked up at Stiles and raised an eyebrow. Stiles flailed in response and nearly fell off the counter, knocking the kettle into the sink and nearly concussing himself on the cupboard.

“Kill it, kill it, kill it!” He pleaded as Peter simply rolled his eyes, lifted his foot, and squished the arachnid under his heel. Stiles screamed again, covering his face with a loud “EW!”

But since he’d let go of the cupboard, he was now falling backwards off the counter and Peter lunged forward, catching the boy in his arms. He looked down at him with an amused smirk, a scathingly snarky remark on his tongue. But he was interrupted.

“Don’t touch me! You have dead spider on your shoe! Ew!” Peter went to drop him but Stiles threw his arms around his neck.

“I thought you wanted me to let you go?”

“Oh hush!” Stiles huffed against his neck, burying his face in his collarbone.

“Really Stiles?”

“Shut up.”

“Werewolves, banshees, kaminas…”

“ _Shut up.”_

“And an _itsy bitsy spider_ has you climbing the furniture?”

“They have eight legs and a million eyes and they’re _creepy_ , okay?”

“A million eyes?”

“Yes! A million eyes.”

“All right then, but only because they have a _million_ eyes.” He said indulgently before he kissed his head and carried him to the couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments on the last one! They really keep me going. Work has been tough lately.


	9. Avian Enthusiast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You seemed like such an avid avian enthusiast."

Sick and tired of his nephew and his marauding band merry misfits, Peter had retired to the park to relax and meditate on where his life had gone so wrong. Sure, he had lied, cheated, and stolen his way to the top but did that really mean he had to ensure his nephew stayed alive and well for the sake of his late sister? Peter tore off a hunk of the bread in his hand and threw some to the ducks along the edge of the pond and watched as they all gathered together in a noisy pile. It reminded him of the teenagers currently invading his loft. He sneered.

Glancing over to his left, the older man glimpsed a young man, perhaps nineteen or twenty, crouched down at the lip of the pond taking pictures of the smallest ducklings that had gotten lost in the shuffle of the frenzied feeding. The lanky, mole speckled man was lost to himself, cooing sweet nothings at the small puffs of fluff. Peter furrowed his brow. Taking another hunk of bread, he crumbled it in his fist and with a vindictive little flick, he tossed it on top of the ducklings. They were swarmed by the adults in seconds.

Peter watched as the young man dove backwards from the flurry of splashing and quacking and whirled on him. He offered and easy smiled at the man whose cheeks were becoming flamed in an attractive, but angry, blush.

“Dude!” He cried, “I just want to take a picture of these adorable little fluffballs,” he gestured wildly towards the maelstrom of ducks and Peter assumed he meant the ducklings. “So can you cease and desist feeding them for like, two seconds, so I can just take some pictures and then you can go on your merry way?” The man stopped, looking at him expectantly, and Peter got the urge to lick the flush that had started up his neck. The other man had apparently taken his silence as an acquiensence to his request, and had stooped back down to take more photos.

Well, he’d only asked for two _seconds_. With a mischevious streak borne to him from prolonged exposure to his nephew and his annoying friends (or perhaps just born in him from the beginning), Peter bent over and dumped the entire bag of breadcrumbs onto the man’s back and stepped away. He watched in satisifaction as the other sputtered, jerked up, nearly dropped his phone, going to unleash what he expected was going to be another breathless tirade until he stopped short. Peter grinned as one, then two, then three pigeons landed on his shoulders and began to peck wildly. The younger man was shortly covered in pigeons trying to reach the breadcrumbs, and Peter watched with a sick kind of fascination as the young man flailed desperately.

“RATS WITH WINGS, RATS WITH WINGS.” He cried, brushing the bread off, and dancing out from under the squawking birds. The ducks had completely fled the scene.

Peter grinned with absolute abandon as the boy screamed at him,

“YOU DICKWAD!”

“What?” He asked, the picture of innocence, “You seemed like such an avid avian enthusiast…” Peter watched as the amber eyes before him turned steel with grim determination and fury, and the man stalked towards him.

He only stopped smirking when he was pushed ass over tea kettle into the pond and was left sputtering to watch the man depart.


	10. Backfired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You made your bed, now lie in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really am planning on continuing some of the drabbles into more of a one-shot, just have been insanely busy as of late, and more than a bit depressed. But I'll get there <3 thanks for hanging in there with me.

OTPPrompt (I think): Person A puts a fake snake under Person B’s pillow as an April Fool’s Day prank but it backfires when they forget about it and scare themselves in the middle of the night.

 

Stiles was feeling particularly ornery today. He’d switched the sugar for salt in the loft sugar jar in the morning (Jackson had tried to kill him), fooled Scott into thinking they were having a pop quiz in Calculus, and had brought his Dad a veggie burger with soy cheese and celery sticks for lunch. His mother used to tell him, on days like these, when the sun was high and the blood in his veins just seemed to sing with mischievous energy, that he was truly feeling his oats. And today, Stiles was definitely feeling something.

  
Having been removed from the Loft by the pack, he’d retreated to Peter’s apartment to ~~bother~~ smother his boyfriend in love and affection and hopefully receive the same in return. Stiles had once seen a gif of a puppy wiggling all over an unamused cat’s face for attention – he thought it summed up their relationship perfectly sometimes.

Slipping into the house he toed off his shoes and went in search of the older man, checking the kitchen, the den, and last the bedroom and ensuite, disappointed to find him gone. With a huff Stiles threw himself down on the bed and exhaled sharply in a frustrated whine. His head lolled over the bed and he kicked at the tucked in sheets, squirming to get comfortable when something caught his eye in the corner.

A fake snake. The innocuous little play boa was tucked on top of a stack of decorations that Stiles could spy through the door. Halloween had come and gone but Stiles had yet to move the decorations to storage at the loft and Peter had been bemoaning the presence of the little reptile in their apartment. Stiles grinned.

\---

After a wholly busy evening, an invasion of faeries and madcap dash cross Beacon Hills, Stiles was more than exhausted. Peter had already showered and was sitting up cozily in their bed, reading his latest bookstore procurement. Crawling from the bathroom, a cloud of steam lazily billowing after him, Stiles dragged his body across the room and face-planted on the bed.

“Stiles, come along, just a few more feet.” Peter drawled lazily, a grin on his face. He was greeted with a distorted mumble from the blankets as the younger man twitched, struggled forward an inch, then stilled again. A few moments, and his breathing evened out. Peter sighed.

Placing his book on the night stand, he reached with one hand, grabbed his wayward pup by the back of the shirt and hauled him up the remaining stretch of bed to his pillow. Stiles groaned in sleepy protest before kicking himself under the sheets and turning over. 

“Goodnight Stiles,” he whispered, leaning over and kissing his lover’s damp mop of hair, “I love you.” He scented roughly over the one visible ear, and down the side of his jaw. Stiles whined loudly, flapping his arms in frustration. He wanted to _sleep_ goddamnit! One flailing arm caught Peter in the head as the other burrowed further away from the intrusion, slipping under the pillow for protection. 

The fingers ran over a cool, scaly object and suddenly Stiles eyes flew open. He jerked back, the snake coming with his hand as his sleep addled brain tried to make sense of the SNAKE in his BED. With a yelp, he fell backwards off the mattress.

Peter watched the whole scene. First with slight alarm at the sight of the snake, then confusion upon the realization that it was fake, and then amusement as his mind realized the failed prank and he watched it backfire spectacularly. Stiles cried pathetically from the floor.

“No,” Peter said smoothly, settling back down, “you made your bed.” He observed the disaster that was his boy’s side of the bed, “Now you lie in it.” Reaching over he flicked the snake off the bed, and only laughed a _little_ when it hit Stiles in the head.


	11. My Angry Little Boyfriend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imagine that A is the nice tall one and B is the smol angry bby. Bonus: A frequently picks B up like a cat to calm them down.  
>  (Well, Stiles is a bit taller isn’t he? But hey, werewolf strength.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back? What?

Stiles was hefting the bat in a threatening manner, half way between the two packs before Scott or Derek could even blink. In two strides, Peter had closed the space between them, hoisted Stiles up under his arm pits and turned him back toward the Hale house with a little snuggle.

“Now darling, let’s not be hasty.” He simpered as the young man _growled_ in frustration.

“Did you **hear** what he said!” Stiles gesticulated wildly at the opposing pack, the Alpha of which just smirked, canting a hip.

“Of course I did, but you are still made of fragile skin and bones and I’d like to keep you in one piece, if you don’t mind _too_ terribly much.” Peter shepherded the young man back behind him a step, taking up his position at the left of Derek. His small angry boyfriend – sigh.

“Is little red riding hood having an argument with the big bad wolf?” One of the pack members snickered, raising a well manicured eyebrow with a grin. Stiles leveled a glare her direction, rolling his eyes dramatically and receiving a flash of eyes in return.

“Oh my god, that’s so clever, I’ve never heard that one before. Do you guys think she made that one up on her own?” Isaac failed to keep a smile off his face and Scott went from looking completely despaired to only mildly constipated. Derek sighed noisily.

“I’ve warned you once Klein, this is our territory. It has been our territory for centuries, as it will remain. Now clear off.” Derek made the command clear, red eyes flashing dangerously. Peter calculated the odds in his head. The Klein pack had six members, the handsome and conniving Alpha, Connor, and five Betas. The Hale pack had them beat in number with Derek, Scott, Peter, Stiles, Boyd, Erica and Isaac present. But the Kleins were born wolves and Peter had seen them in the first skirmish, their teamwork and fluidity enough to breed envy. But Peter knew his value in fights, and with Stiles wound up, half his attention would be spent watching the boy. Peter consciously loosened his shoulders.

“Alpha over what? A burned out husk, a burned up Uncle, and a baby pack?” He eyed Peter with disdain and sneered at the teens assembled behind Derek.

“You flea ridden mutt!” And Stiles was on the move again, throwing the bat onto his shoulder. The Klein pack was laughing now, amused by the defenseless human who marched up to Connor. Scott had gone back to looking horrified. Derek was tense, and Peter rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Connor grinned, standing at least four inches above the human who dared come within six inches of him, huffing in anger. He cocked an eyebrow and smiled, elongated teeth peeking through red lips. “Come to give us a kiss and make up?”

 Stiles looked up at him challenging.

“Bad dog!” He shouted, swinging the bat forward and thwacking Connor in the nose roughly as the werewolf stumbled back in a daze – shocked the at the human’s audacity. And then all hell broke loose.

Peter sighed. His small angry boyfriend.  


	12. No Time for Second Guesses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess what…MPREG.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My fiancé hates mpreg but I don’t, so here you go! Another chapter?!
> 
> This chapter has a lot more John and Peter together talk.

“Peter, walking a hole through the floor isn’t going to solve anything. It’s going to put a hole in the floor that little Claudia is going to fall through.” Stiles breathed through clenched teeth, watching his husband pace anxiously across their bedroom floor.

Contractions had started five hours prior and their intensity had begun to increase in the last hour. The wave of pain and pressure peaked and Stiles shut his eyes, gripped the bed sheets and struggled to take a long breath.

“I think it’s time for you to call my Dad and Deaton.”

* * *

 

The contractions had increased, the space between them a welcome respite to the soft, pain filled cursing Stiles filled the room with.

Peter had broken two of the chairs in the room and had nearly broken the door before John had taken him out of the room when Deaton decided to check Stiles dilation again 

“Now son, if you don’t calm down Stiles is going to make you leave the house and don’t think I didn’t see your eyes flashing already. I know you don’t want that.” Peter turned from the older man, uncomfortable and self-conscious suddenly as he walked down the hall a few strides.

“I don’t think I can do this.” He muttered, more to himself than for John, but Stiles’ father still heard him. The Sheriff walked over quickly and gripped him by the shoulder, turning him around.

“Now isn’t the time for that kind of talk. Whether you like it or not Stiles is about to bring a little baby girl into this world. _Your_ baby girl, and you are going to be there. You had the desire and the need and the love for this when you and he searched for those damn spells. Don’t let fear cloud all that now.”

“I’m not scared.” Peter scoffed, an air of snide indifference marring his handsome features as John laughed.

“I see right through you Peter.” John shook his head.” You can pretend you’re this big, bad alpha all you want, but I see you with Stiles, I see you talk to that bump you…you remind me of me when Claudia was pregnant with my little boy…” John cut off, gathering his thoughts and emotions. “You’re bringing a new life into the world, a world that burned you Peter.”

The werewolf flinched, turning his back on John.

“But my boy and that little girl need you. As much as it begrudges me to say sometimes you’re a good man. You’re going to be a good father. Now go back in there. You don’t get to have second thoughts now. You don’t need them. It’s going to be okay.”

Peter turned slowly, regarding the Sheriff before him. Worry lines marred his once youthful face. They creased his handsome features, each wrinkle reading _worry, Stiles, worry, family, worry, Stiles, worry, my boy, worry, my **son.**_ But Peter realized that without these lines, John wouldn’t be the man he was today. He wouldn’t be the same man that arrested his (stupid) nephew, who threw himself into the midst of the supernatural maelstrom of Beacon Hills as a simple officer of the law, who would do anything for his son. And that’s what it came down to. His boy, his son, his Stiles.

Peter breathed a soft sigh. 

His boy, his husband, his Stiles, had helped him create the most amazing gift – his _Claudia._ Who was on the way if Stiles’ panting breaths and pounding heart were any indication. This was no time for second guessing, for fear, for cowardice. He’d be a different man on the other side of it, but looking at John, Peter realized he’d be a _better_ man. Because Stiles trusted him to be one.

“Let’s go back inside, I’m sure your werewolf strength will come in use when Stiles decides to squeeze your hand…” John smiled at him softly and allowed Peter to lead the way back to the room.

“Oh, you decided to come back? Decided to take a walk around the block? Go to the movies? Wait until her first birthday to show up?” Stiles sniped as sweat dripped down his face. John swallowed a chuckle, stroking a large warm hand through Stiles damp hair before retreating to the corner table with Deaton. Peter leaned over Stiles and pressed a soft kiss to his brown before sitting on the bed and taking his hand.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”


End file.
